Once outside, I was met with the chaos of over thirty mercenaries clustered in three groups along the docks, nearly shouting at each other over who should stay behind to handle the kids.
"I'm not. The gig was just to exterminate the raffen," one of the mercs beside Erik and Mila said, shrugging.
"We're not doing it either. We only helped score a discount on the patrol boat, not babysit the kids inside." Countered another merc from a group adorned with a trident on their clothes—definitely nomads of the pirate nation.
"Hell, it's not even about the kids—it's about the wrong info." "In the info they said one hundred fifty raffen, not three hundred. Which fixer was responsible for scouting this complete mess in the first place? That's what I want to know!" Yelled the old man with the scar with the last group at his back.
I can't exactly blame them for it. But I get it—dealing with fifty kids and four nuns in this chaos isn't exactly easy for anyone.I walked past them with a wide smile back into the village, sensing that their discussion was going to last a while. I let them handle the kids without me nearby.
"I'm going to start looting for as long as the stym lasts while you discuss the sitch. Did you see anything worth looting on your side?" I sent Erik this message.
"Okay, but watch out for stragglers," he replied. "Might be worth checking the garage on the cliffside where the other team roped down. Looks like there's a truck inside. And ask Mila—she saw something interesting. Here's her number so you can contact her directly."
A truck? Maybe I can jam every weapon I find into it, along with some crates from the warehouse—though luck says they probably won't be worth much. Still, every penny counts, doesn't it?
I started walking toward the cliffside, Copperhead gripped tight in my hand, ready for whatever might cross my path. As I passed the remnants of a former minefield, I heard dragging sounds from behind a wrecked house. Creeping past a corner, I aimed along the wall and spotted an injured figure dragging someone face-first to the ground. I couldn't tell who it was, but they weren't clothed like a raffen or nomad.
I waited as I saw the raffen pause for a moment to catch his breath, I shot him in the chest. As he fell to the ground I walked out of my cover and made my way to him, reaching the downed raffen I shot him in the head again for good measure.
Fucking scum.
Looking at the dragged person I search for wounds of any kind. Finding no wounds, I reached for her throat to check her pulse—though weak, I turned her around. She was a young woman dressed simply, like a street kid, with mortar shell wounds covering her entire front.
"Does any medic on our team have the skills to stabilize someone with mortar shell wounds over her entire front? Please come to the former minefield immediately! " I yelled through the chat as I pulled out a small first aid kit from one of my jacket pockets.
It is a bit small for all these wounds.
I realize as I look at the kit and then back at the wounds. Shaking my head I use everything inside the kit and as I use up the last bandage I panic a bit before cutting the kit itself and pressing it down on the biggest wounds.
"On my way." Someone in the chat replied, "On my way," but I couldn't make out who it was.
Looking at my work I could only sigh. But every wound is closed for the moment even with the bottles of disinfection pressed into the wounds. It's not good but better than before. Hopefully.
I could only continue to press on the wounds as I waited for the medic.
Suddenly I heard movement from behind me along with Milas voice." Continue pressing kid. I will do what I can."
She kneeled down opposite me and started to unpack her first aid kit without looking at it. She looked at the merc while one of her eyes began to glow bright green.
"It looks worse than it is. You can let go now she took some healing agent before losing consciousness." She said as she rebounded the wounds.
Stepping aside to let her work without any obstacles I couldn't help but wonder. "You seem at ease treating wounds— as if you'd done this a hundred times."
"Because I do this for like the thousandth time. Born in the USSR as an orphan, I knew since I was little I wouldn't be treated if I hurt myself. So I did the only thing I could do, join the army as a sniper slash scout slash medic." She smiled a bit at the end.
Should I ask if Mila is a nickname for Lyudmila? Probably not. No, that's unlikely. Why was she left here alone? She's one of them, isn't she?
"Why did the other team leave her behind, she's one of them isn't she?" I asked bewildered.
She answered, her smile fading: "Because they didn't search for her. If she dies, they get more money. Gigs of this scale aren't made by a single fixer. They are made by around ten fixers, mostly fixers connected to the seven nations. A fixer sends out scouts to the location, two others get the buyers for the assets and another four or five gather the mercs from nomad clans, gangs and solos. And so on and so on."
So basically an operation involving complete strangers with doubtful loyalties—those who'd gladly stab you in the back—and unverified intel that's probably wrong, like this time. Super.
Why do these gigs still exist if they're so risky? Surely nobody would choose to do them unless the pay is too good to pass up.
"Divide one point five million eddies by thirty mercs—think about each person's share—and remember the seven who have died so far without loot. But this type is also a punishment for mercs who fail too many other gigs." She said while still treating the merc.
One point five million eddies? For a single gig? The mortality rate of a quarter of the mercs should be counted.
She looked up to me as she finished and then she exclaimed, pointing at the plastic piece in my stomach, "You're wounded!" Why didn't you say anything about it earlier?
I looked towards the piece of plastic and remembered it.
"I totally forgot about it thanks to the combat stym." I said while scratching my neck in embrasement.
"You forgot it!?! Are you an idiot!?! Do you want to die!?! Do you want your mother to KILL ME and Erik!?!" She stood up and started to rant with her hands on her hips.
This is worse than Jessica's disapproving glare along with complaining from when I forgot to go to the camp for two days.
I slumped against the wall and hung my head as she silently came nearer after she finished.
"This is gonna hurt." she said, and before I could even lift my head, she ripped out the piece of plastic.
I looked up to the sky and howled out the pain, as she dressed the wound.
Taking deep breaths, I tried to calm down. I could have sworn I heard a sadistic undertone in her voice as she pulled the plastic out. Might have been my imagination.
Hold it, does Mila know Jessica?
"How do you know my mother?" I asked bewildered.
"Yes, I know her and her mother too. I am a Raven too, just a different family. Because I know her I fear her more than all the others in this gig. Anyway, here." Shuddered Mila at the last part before handing me a bounce pack.
Why... No, better not ask. Some things were definitely better left unknown.
Taking the bounce pack, I took a deep breath before standing up.
"Now that you're not bleeding internally anymore. "In one of the houses near the river is a modified dirt bike. It's not the world but it's the best bike for the desert. Plus it's free. So go I will help her till she can be moved." She said with a smile that warned, 'Don't do anything that will get me killed if you don't want to feel the pain again.'
I nodded warily, heeding Mila's smile. As I turned to head towards the river, I couldn't shake the lingering question and unease. What history did Mila have with my mother to fear her so? Pushing the thoughts aside for now, I focused on the task at hand—finding that dirt bike.
Picking my way through the ruined village, I kept a wary eye out for any more surprises. The eerie stillness was broken only by the harsh, slurred shouts of the arguing mercs in the distance and the brittle crunch of shattered concrete and twisted metal under my boots. Rounding the remains of a stone wall, I spotted a relatively intact house near the sluggish brown waters of the river.
The door hung crooked on its hinges, revealing a darkened interior. I stepped inside, weapon at the ready, scanning for threats. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through the shattered windows. And there, propped against the far wall, was the dirt bike Mila had promised.
It was a rugged machine, the chassis battered but intact. Knobby tires, a reinforced frame, and the engine looked to have been recently modified. I ran a hand over the seat, trying to gauge its history. Definitely seen some action, but still road-worthy.
Straddling the bike, I took a deep breath and kicked it to life. The engine roared, startling a flock of crows into flight. Grinning beneath my mask, I revved the throttle, checking the motor for any kind of damage.
Sounds alright I guess. No grinding of metal against metal or misfiring at a high number of revolutions. Though I don't know how to drive a bike.
I turned off the engine and pushed the bike out of the house. Leaning it against the wall next to the door, I stepped back inside to look for anything else of value I can take with me from the house.
A tinkerer's den usually held hidden treasures. True to the proverb next to the place where the bike stood was a dresser used as a workbench. I looked through the drawers only to find some tool sets. Nothing I hadn't found in the factory, though.
I stepped back to look around when I heard the cracking of wood from underneath me. Lowering my gaze I saw a big wooden board over the ground.
The locations to hide some stashes were more imaginative to my time.
I grabbed the board and leaned it horizontally against the dresser. Beneath it was only a filled duffel bag together with a backpack. Looking through the bag I only found a collection of worn clothes together with a set of passports, at least three different identities for a single person.
The backpack however was filled with grenades, ammonation, bounce packs, a Lyberty pistol, some knives together with three burner phones and a big roll of eddies. I stashed away my Unity in the bag and put the Lyberty in my holster.
A bigger caliber is better against borgs, with my luck a borg is still lurking in a corner somewhere.
The bike and the bags... someone had been planning to run. Too bad they waited too long.
I put the backpack on and stepped out of the house after looking through everything again just to make sure. Once outside I took the bike and pushed the bike with me as I made my way to the cliffside again. Not wanting everyone knowing I go there.
As I approached the cliffside, I could see the garage Erik had mentioned in the distance, its rusted metal doors slightly ajar. With renewed caution, I crept closer, the dirt bike's tires leaving tracks in the debris.
Reaching the doors, I left the bike leaned next to them as I peered into the gloom, my grip tightening on my Liberty. The garage was larger than I expected, with a hulking shape looming in the far corner. I slipped inside, eyes darting, and made my way towards the vehicle.
As I drew closer, I saw it indeed resembled a truck—a beast of a machine, with thick, knobby tires and a reinforced cab along with a crystal dome system installed. The truck bed was covered, but thanks to the open rear co-driver's door, a duffel bag was visible in the back seat.
Jackpot.
No way I am lucky enough to find this Larimore here unprotected in working condition.
I opened the driver's doors and immediately saw the driver's seat missing. Sighing, I pulled the lever to the hatch and went in front to open it. The motor was in place; nothing seemed to be missing at first sight.
I searched around the garage to find the missing seat. But no matter where I searched I didn't find it on the first floor. I took the stairs to the second floor where I heard something from behind a slightly open door.
Looking around, I saw a broken rear mirror on an oil barrel next to the slightly open door. I positioned myself next to the door, held the mirror in front of me, and looked through the crack into the room.
The room was a little girl's bedroom, judging from the pink walls, bed, and pretty much everything else, except for a giant light brown teddy bear facing a corner. I silently opened the door and stepped inside. Still I find no one inside but the sound is getting louder, it sounds a faint, ragged sobbing.
Here's nothing except the ....
I approached the teddy bear cautiously, the sobbing growing louder with each step. As I gently turned the stuffed animal, a radio was revealed behind it. Suddenly, a metallic clatter rang out as a grenade dropped at my feet. I leapt aside just as the explosion engulfed me, the blast hurling me back through the doorway into the corridor.
My vision swam and my ears rang, but through the disorientation I heard approaching footsteps. As my sight cleared, I saw a man looming over me, clad head-to-toe in tactical gear with an Overture pistol aimed directly at my head.
"Nothing personal, kid. You just offended the wrong person," he sneered. Then he pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. "BANG! BANG! BANG!" The impacts smashed my head against the floor, my mask barely holding together after the final shot.
Rage flooded through me. Despite my spinning head, I grabbed my Lyberty pistol and extended one of the hidden blades along the arm of my jacket, stabbing him in the leg while firing at his torso. I struck his leg but he dodged the shots and jumped into one of the other rooms off the corridor.
Adrenaline surging, I stumbled back into the room with the bear and took cover in the corner, heart pounding as I readied my weapon.
"You're just prolonging the inevitable. Even if you manage to kill us, there are more of us hunting you down, so you might as well give up now."
Us? So, more than one, huh? At least they could have underestimated me.
I pushed a button on my bow and grabbed an arrow from the quiver. With a sharp click, I rammed the arrow into the wall and activated it. Suddenly, the outlines of at least four people materialized in the surrounding rooms, positioned at the doors, waiting to ambush me. I reloaded my pistol, grabbed my axe in one hand, and went to the closest door. Aligning with the outline, I fired half of the magazine into him and watched him fall.
The other assassins tried to get into the corridor. As the closest one opened the door, I shot with the Lyberty at his gun, hitting true, dropping the empty Lyberty and swung my axe with both hands into his head. Using his body as cover, I held him upright with one hand and pushed my way towards the other two. They fired as soon as they came out of the rooms, their bullets hitting the corpse of their comrade.
As soon as the closer one stopped firing at me, I rushed towards him with the corpse and took a knife in my free hand. I threw the corpse aside and jumped on him, knife first, but he managed to throw me over himself. Turning around again, I slashed with my knife, catching him across the chest. He stumbled back, cursing, as I rolled to my feet. The last assassin emerged from the room, firing at me with a rifle. I dove behind the corpse I had used as a shield earlier, bullets thudding into the dead body. Reaching around, I grabbed the fallen Overture pistol and returned fire, aiming for the shooter's head. The man dropped with a cry, hitting the ground hard.
Pushing myself up, I turned to face the man I had slashed. He was clutching his bleeding chest, staring at me with a mix of fear and anger. I raised the Overture, aiming it at his head.
"Who sent you?" I demanded. The man spat at me, his face twisting into a sneer. "Go to hell!" he rasped. "Clink." He dropped a grenade from his hand, the metallic clatter echoing in the corridor. I raised the Overture and fired, the shot catching him in the head just as the grenade hit the floor. Turning him around over the grenade I jumped back. The explosion was small but there was a stench of burning meat. It wasn't a normal grenade but an incendiary grenade.
Fucking bastard. Loyal to a fault or to the money.
I looked around afterwards and saw the entrance to the room burning along with the three corpses. I waited a time till the flames died down before stepping over them and grabbing their weapons and searching for any kind of identification on them.
There was none except a phone from which they were tasked to come here around five hours ago.
When I was in the container with at least six or eight mercs together with Erik and Mila.
"Why would any of them want to have me killed?" I wondered before coming to a conclusion. "What if one of them worked with the mercs who attacked the original and simply texted their choms that I am alive? It sounds unlikely but the same could be said for transmigrating."
Shaking my head I continued the search for the driver seat again afterwards. I found it along the corridor leading to the staircase in the farthest corner next to another giant teddy bear but this time black with a shardcase on top.
Taking the seat I step down the stairs and begin to reinstall it, taking a seat afterwards I found the keys still in the ignition and turned them.
The car rumbled a bit before coming to life with a jump, the sound echoing through the garage.
I step back out, go up the stairs and try to pick the teddy bears up and put them on the trunk bed together with the dirt bike. I don't know when the twins have their birthday but it could be tomorrow so at worst I give them a teddy before their birthday.
I sit back in the driver's seat and began to slowly drive out of the garage. As I drove out of the garage, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I glanced in the rearview mirror, but saw nothing but the dirt bike and the black teddy bear in the truck bed. Still there is no reason not to be a bit careful.
I still have to get the borgs HMG with me, no way I would leave it behind here. I decided to take a circuitous route back to the borg, just in case. As I navigated the winding roads, I kept a sharp eye out for any signs of pursuit. The village was quiet, almost eerily so, but I didn't let that lull me into a false sense of security. If I am already there, I could simply take the complete borg with me. Finally, I reached the place where I had left the borg. I parked the truck nearby and cautiously made my way towards him. The borg was right where I had left it, still in a smoking crater but the HMG was nowhere to be seen.
The chrome is most likely junk but the blueprints could help me with the terminator.
I managed to haul the borg into the truck bed, wedging it in beside the dirt bike and the teddy bears. It was a tight fit, but it would have to do. I looked around some more and found the HMG pierced into a wall twenty meters to the right.
I struggle to yank it free, but it's stubbornly lodged, propelling the Larimore along with it. I reach into the truck bed, grab the tow rope, and toss it over the HMG, then loop it around the coupling. Sitting back in the driver's seat, I accelerate hard, wrenching the gun from the wall with a triumphant grin spreading across my face.
I stepped towards the HMG, taking a moment to appreciate my handiwork. Destroying the hard work of others was my second favorite hobby, right after building things myself. The gun was in shambles—a dented barrel, leaking connections, and a gaping hole in the center. It was pretty much junk, but it was my junk to repair.
I loaded the HMG into the truck, along with my damaged mask. The HUD was flickering on and off, thanks to the bullets embedded in it. "I should have made a spare one for cases like this," I muttered before climbing back into the driver's seat and heading towards Mila and the merc.
When I arrived, I was surprised to see the merc awake and sitting up. She looked pale and weak, but alive. As I approached, she turned to me and nodded in gratitude. "Thanks for saving my life, Im Claire by the way" she said, her voice hoarse but sincere.
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. "It was nothing," I mumbled. "Mila did most of the work."
Mila smiled at me, then turned to Claire. "You should rest," she said firmly. "You lost a lot of blood."
Claire shook her head. "No time," she said, struggling to her feet. "We need to get back to the docks. The others are still arguing about what to do with the kids and the nuns."
I sighed, knowing that I couldn't avoid this any longer. "Fine," I said, "let's go. But I'm not leaving those kids and nuns behind if necessary I will simply drive them to the place of the nuns for a while. Till we found something else of course."
We piled into the truck, Claire leaning heavily against Mila in the back seat. As we drove, I couldn't help but glance at them in the rearview mirror.
When we arrived at the docks, the scene was chaotic. Mercs were shouting at each other, gesturing angrily. The kids and nuns huddled together, looking frightened and confused.
I parked the truck and climbed out, walking towards one of the nuns. The oldest one by the looks of it, a young woman in her early twenties with blood hair.
"Excuse me, but could you keep the children for a bit longer? Maybe let us take you and the kids to your place? It's probably—no, definitely—a better place than leaving them here alone or sending them to an orphanage."
She glanced at me in surprise before replying. "We could keep them for a few years, until some of them move on. But there's no vehicle large enough to carry them all. Aside from the old school bus by one of the houses along the river—though I hear it's broken—that is. The Noma—Raffens—talked about repairing it so they could get the kids away from the base if needed, for a little while at least."
"Thank you. If I can help, just ask," I said.
"Abigail—that's my name. Thanks for what you do. Good luck—I hope you won't need it."
An old school bus, I couldn't help but think of the Joker's line: "No, I kill the bus driver." Shaking away the thought, I turned to the arguing mercs. "Enough!" I shouted, voice sharp cut through the noise. Some wanted to shout me down, but I didn't give them the chance. "If we keep fighting like this, the fixers will think we all got wiped and will send a whole new gig. So, if you don't want to get paid, keep going. Otherwise, I'll take the kids and nuns to their monastery. Stay here and finish what you're doing."
The mercs turned to me, surprised by my outburst. For a moment, no one spoke. Then they looked at each other relieved and nodded among each other after looking towards the Larimore before Erik said. "Thanks kid we will deal with the rest if you need anything to transport the kids just ask. When you're finished don't come back here, just return towards the camp."